


Tiny Cities Made of Ashes

by butyoumight



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-08-10
Updated: 2007-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butyoumight/pseuds/butyoumight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>and as we're headed down the road towards tiny cities made of ashes<br/>I'm gonna get dressed up in plastic<br/>gonna shake hands with the masses<br/>oh no!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another unfinished multi-chapter fic. High School Reunion AU. Might finish it one day, if I ever write the planned prequel _Boys of Summer_.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I just got a message that said  
>  yeah, hell has frozen over._

Ray used his elbow to open the door to his apartment, juggling a bag of groceries, a pile of mail, and a guitar case all at the same time.

Music that he'd been lamenting from all the way down the hall was revealed to be coming from his own apartment, and if he'd a free hand, he'd be pinching the bridge of his nose by now. Frank not working, Frank _bored_ , was a force to be reckoned with.

"Frank!" He kicked the door shut, setting his guitar down gently and heading towards the living room, dropping the groceries off near the kitchen as he went. "Frank! Music down!"

Frank seemingly still couldn't hear him, lost as he was in his own little paradise. Stripped to the waist, hair falling over his eyes as he danced around the living room. Ray contented himself in watching his little spitfire, leaning in the doorway, crossing his arms, a soft smile on his face.

When the song ended, a few seconds of silence stretched, and Frank blinked sweat out of his eyes, realizing suddenly he was no longer alone. If he weren't already flushed from exhilaration and exertion, he would have been blushing furiously. "Ray! Oh, um. I thought... you weren't supposed to be home till eight." Frank crossed to the entertainment center, turning off the turntable and flipping a switch that changed the speakers to pick up on the television instead.

Ray chuckled. "You do this every night I work late?"

Frank pushed sweat-damp hair out of his eyes. "No. Not every night. Just, uh." Frank inched towards his discarded shirt, draped over the back of the couch.

"No!" Ray crossed the living room, tossing their mail down on the couch as he went, catching Frank in his arms before the smaller man could cover his gently shining torso. "It was cute." Frank shuddered slightly as callused fingers traced along the lines of his tattoos.

Frank pressed himself close to Ray, resting his cheek against Ray's collarbone, their hips brushing together. "How was work?"

"Long." Ray swayed slightly, arms still tight around Frank. The smaller man reached up, freeing his boyfriend's hair from its tie and running careful fingers through the curls. "Tiring. I hate playing other people's shit."

"I know what you mean." Frank pressed his hips a bit more intently against Ray's, smiling up at him, stretching onto tiptoes to catch Ray's mouth in a quick and very purposeful kiss. "Want me to make it better?" Frank's hands snaked around Ray, pressing down and kneading gently at the small of his back, just barely under the waist of Ray's jeans, where he knew Ray carried all his tension.

Ray moaned softly, trying to pull away from Frank's practiced and studied ministrations. "I'm all dirty, Frank, can I shower first, please?"

Frank's eyebrows wiggled suggestively. "We could shower together... Two birds with one stone?"

Ray rolled his eyes, catching Frank's all too convincing mouth up in another intent kiss, sucking on his lip ring for a moment before he withdrew, shaking his head with purpose. "No, dear." Ray pulled away, pointedly ignoring the pout on Frank's face, gesturing at the scatter of mail on the couch. "Could you go through that, please? Figure out if there's anything important."

Frank gathered the envelopes into a small pile as Ray retreated to the bathroom, sprawling on the couch and turning on the television to some bland music channel before turning his attentions to the mail.

Credit card offer for him, Ray's cell phone bill, a reminder than he was due for a physical, and Ray was at the same time due at the dentists. A flyer for a show, a flyer about a blood drive (Frank was destined to never give blood, because every time he came near the threshold holding him back, he ended up getting another tattoo). Something from some church somewhere. A card from his mom.

Frank's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he checked the return address on the last envelope. Belleville Senior High School.

"What's that?"

Ray stood in the doorway again, towel around his waist, another around his shoulders, to keep his hair from shedding water all over half of the house.

"I don't know yet. It's for you, though."

"Then lemme see."

Frank turned over, wriggling his ass at Ray as he tugged open the envelope, pulling out the letter and skimming it eagerly, wriggling all the more as excitement overtook him.

"Oh my god!" He rolled off the couch, leaping to his feet. "You're almost twenty-eight!"

Ray blinked confusedly. "Yes, and you just turned twenty-three. You want to rub it in a little more?"

Frank flailed at him, brandishing the tri-folded piece of paper. "Your ten year high school reunion!"

Despite Ray's heritage, his skin went noticeably pale. "Oh, no. Sorry, Frank."

Frank's eyes went wide with hurt, and Ray winced. That puppy dog look actually stung, half the time. Frank was a master of many crafts, only one of which was pouting. "But... god, it would be so fun. Meet your high school friends..."

"Frank, no. I hated high school. You did too."

"I went to Catholic school, there's a decided difference. Not to mention you were, uh, a soccer star? And I've seen the pictures on your mom's mantel, you were never small enough to fit in a locker."

Ray rolled his eyes, pulling away from Frank's insistent press against him, resting both hands on Frank's hips, holding him at arm length.

"Frank, I didn't really have any friends in high school. I had one girlfriend, and she sort of dumped me after this other guy who liked her told her... well, never mind. I was struggling with my sexuality, and..."

Frank pulled away from Ray's gentle hands, snatching up his T-shirt and wriggling into it. "Oh."

Ray shook his head again, following after Frank as the younger man headed towards their bedroom. "Frank..."

"If you're ashamed of me, Ray, just say so."

Ray lost the towel around his shoulders as he reached to grab Frank's wrists, tugging the smaller man against himself, Frank's back pressed against Ray's chest. He struggled weakly for a moment before Ray's quiet words into his hair made themselves known.

"Only a fool would be ashamed of _you_."

Frank relaxed, leaning back against Ray, folding his arms over Ray's, fingers flexing weakly. "So why can't we go?"

"You never know who's actually gonna show up, Frank."

"You afraid of running into a former flame?"

"Not particularly, seeing as I only had, like, one and a half."

Frank's voice took on the whining pitch that he had perfected at the age of eight. "But Ray, I don't _understand_. It's just a couple hours, in a hotel banquet room. What's it going to hurt?"

Ray sighed, Frank's hair fluttering slightly. "This really mean that much to you?"

"Yes."

Ray turned Frank around in his arms, catching his mouth in a tender kiss, petting his hair with one hand. "Fine. We'll go. We'll flaunt ourselves like the sexy sons of bitches we are. How's that?"

Frank beamed up at him, reaching for another, longer, kiss. His hands slipped around Ray, beneath the hem of his jeans, rubbing at the very base of Ray's spine again. "Thank you. Now, let's take care of that long tiring day at work."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I got a phone call from the lord  
>  saying hey boy, get a sweater._

Gerard vaguely shook himself as he stepped into the sort-of clean-ish air above ground. He hated the subway (strange, as he had such an affinity for the dark, the doom, and the gloom that an underground setting usually afforded), but he hated driving himself more, and cab drivers were one hundred percent out of the question. Living in the dead heart of New York City severely limited his options.

He pranced easily down the block, dodging people; head hung and eyes focused through tinted glass on his shoes and fraying jeans. There was a new stain on his pants, he wasn't sure when it had gotten there, but the simple glance told him that it was permanent, and he frowned to himself at the prospect of going shopping _again_.

He nodded vaguely at the doorman in front of their apartment building, shaking himself again as his eyes re-dilated, adjusting to the shocking difference in the light between outside and their dimly lit flicker-light foyer.

Gerard pushed his sunglasses back into his hair, passing his simple black bag from one shoulder to the other as he turned into the tiny alcove that housed their mailboxes.

He dialed the combination in easily, tugging open the box and drawing out the few things inside.

A letter from his brother stood out. Mikey was strange about writing letters, he just seemed to enjoy it more. And it wasn't as if he didn't have a cell phone, and a computer with Internet. Always preaching the evils of e-mail, Gerard didn't understand why. A package slip, which meant that his Copics were finally here. Gerard's smile at the forthcoming markers faded as he checked his watch and realized that the mailroom was already closed.

The last envelope was from his old high school, and he checked the address block twice, just to be sure it was actually for him, before wriggling open the envelope with his forefinger and tugging out the letter.

He was in the midst of re-folding the letter and aligning it with its envelope, intent on tearing it up and pretending he'd never got it, when a familiar arm bearing a braided leather bracelet reached around him, snatching all three pieces of mail from him.

"Hey!"

Bob smiled in his winning way, his own sunglasses still in place on his face, as he handed Mikey's letter and the package slip back. His voice was soft, as always, easy going. He made Gerard's often shredded-thread nerves weave themselves back together, always. "Good to hear from Mikey. I'm looking forward to hearing how he likes Chi-town."

Gerard gulped, reaching for the third piece of mail in what he hoped was a surreptitious manner. "How's work?"

"How's yours? What's this?" Bob held up the letter, giving Gerard a look through the sunglasses. Gerard couldn't see it, but he could sure feel it.

"It's nothing, Bob, really." Gerard reached for the letter again.

"Like hell it's nothing. It's your reunion in two weeks, is what it is."

Gerard struggled to restrain reflexive shifty eyes, and turned around again, closing their mailbox, sticking the letter and the slip of paper into his bag and heading for the elevator.

Bob finally removed his sunglasses, hanging them, as always, from the collar of his shirt, giving quick chase to his boyfriend, just catching him as the elevator arrived. The lady waiting exited swiftly; casting back a look with a sniff as Bob wrapped his arms around Gerard from behind. Gerard flipped her off, and Bob tried hard not to laugh as he just caught the utterly horrified look on the woman's face before the elevator closed.

"You're terrible."

"It's New York fucking City, she can get used to seeing a fag or two."

Bob sighed, and Gerard shivered a bit at the way his hair ruffled. He turned around in Bob's arms, batting his eyelashes. Bob was less than convinced, holding up the invitation to the reunion and raising one eyebrow meaningfully.

"Why were you going to tear this up?"

"Because I don't want to go."

"Why not?"

"Because high school was a load of fucking bullshit."

"I agree, but that's no excuse."

Gerard hung his head to the side, pouting up at Bob, and wishing that his boyfriend were more susceptible to his bursts of whine. "When you spent most of high school bruised for your sexuality, you don't exactly show up ten years later and flaunt it."

Bob pulled away from their embrace to lean back against the wall of the elevator, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sure you do. That's precisely what you do. Because those fuckers that gave you shit, they're probably married with three ugly kids, by now. Working as mechanics or some shit. And you're here, living out your dreams. That's precisely why you _should_ flaunt it."

The elevator dinged before Gerard could respond, the door opening behind him, and Bob strode past him, digging around in his coat pocket for his keys.

"Other pocket, hon." Gerard said quietly, trailing after Bob. The younger man pursed his lips, reaching into his other pocket as instructed and drawing out his keys, unlocking their apartment.

"Bob. Bob?"

He ignored Gerard's plaintive questioning, and Gerard wanted to stab himself in the foot, or maybe throw himself down a flight of stairs. Anything to get out of this.

"Bob, come on, please? We don't have to go to yours."

Bob paused in the kitchen, perusing the refrigerator for half a moment, contemplating, before determining that it wasn't worth it and continuing on towards the bedroom.

"Bob, goddamn it, what's so wrong about not wanting the reminder?"

Bob stripped off his shirt in the bedroom, and just as quickly replaced it with a clean shirt. He never even glanced towards Gerard.

The message was painfully clear. Gerard hated the silent treatment, not least because no talking meant no sex.

"Bob." He stepped into their bedroom, draping his arms around Bob's shoulders. "Fine. We'll go. Just for, like, an hour, okay? Does that work?"

Bob smiled, but Gerard couldn't see it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm going to hit you on the face_

"Ah, shit, you're bleeding."

Ray winced, shaking his head, tugging the tie out of his hair and shaking the mane of curls out, dripping sweat. "Doesn't matter. Where's the trainer? I need it wrapped."

His coach stood, waving one hand over his head to catch the attention of the physical trainer across the field. The man grabbed up his handy bag and circled the field towards them.

Ray leaned back on the bench, panting and gathering his hair up into a ponytail again. He chewed on his lip as he flexed his foot, looking at the blood tracing through the hair on his leg.

"What happened?"

Ray blinked up at the trainer, his typical winning smile breaking through the sweat tracks on his face. "Slide tackle, got clipped by his cleats, it's nothing, I just need a bandage." He lifted his leg, watching as the trainer drew out a roll of gauze and an ace bandage. He wrapped the cut quickly, covering the gauze with the ace bandage and clipping it tight.

"You good?"

Ray rose to his feet, bouncing back and forth a few times. "Yeah, 'm good." He turned to the coach. "Can I get back in?"

The coach flagged in another of his players, slapping Ray on the back and speaking quickly. "S'your last game, Toro, make us proud."

 

Gerard pushed lank hair out of his face, forcing a weak smile onto his lips as people passed him on their way out of the gallery. A few people recognized him as the artist, and he smiled genuinely at these people, for they were the ones who had looked at the pamphlets and actually cared about what he had to say about the art.

"Mr. Way?"

He looked towards the soft voice speaking his name, nodding and smiling at her.

"I'm Nancy Parker, with the Belleville Daily Sun. I was wondering if I could interview you about the show?"

He cleared his throat, tugging on the hem of his shirt, embarrassed. "Um. Yeah. I guess so."

"Let's start from the beginning, shall we? I understand this show is a part of your final project as a senior."

"That's right. It's a retrospective of my four years here, intertwined with my, uh." He blushed. "My struggles with social anxiety, depression, and bullying."

She smiled encouragingly, gesturing with one hand, inviting him to walk with her as she took in the pieces hanging from the wall. "You have an amazingly refreshing, unique style."

"Thank you," He glanced down, noticing her bare left hand. "Ms. Parker."

"You're very welcome. What are your future plans, Gerard?"

"Well, I've been accepted to my first choice school, in New York City, and they're offering me nearly a full ride, which is nice for my parents, because my younger brother, Mikey, graduates in three years."

"You worry about your family, then?"

"We don't exactly have the most money, no."

"I see."

She touched his arm gently, and he smiled, still blushing vaguely.

"What are your ambitions, Gerard?"

"Truly, I want to work in the comics industry. But almost anything in art would be spectacular."

 

"I know you."

Gerard jumped, looking up from the sink, cool water dripping down his face. He wasn't really sure why he'd come, except for the fact that his baby brother had wrangled a date with a Senior girl, and Gerard felt the overwhelming need to go to his own useless senior prom, if just to keep an eye on his brother.

Of course, anxiety had gripped him before an hour of the dance had passed, and he'd sequestered himself in the bathroom to splash water on his face in an attempt to calm down.

"You're Gerard. The artist."

Gerard blinked. He wasn't sure why he knew this man, leaning against the bathroom door, a wild mane of curly hair the most distinguishing feature, considering the straight lines of the suit he was dressed in.

"That's me. And you are?"

"'m Ray Toro."

Gerard took a step towards the other boy, tilting his head a bit. He could sense a strange aura around this Ray, and deduced quickly that he was drunk as a goddamn skunk.

"You came to prom drunk?"

"No."

Gerard smirked, crossing his arms. Ray laughed. "I came to prom tipsy. I got properly wasted here."

Gerard rolled his eyes, then gestured with one hand. "If you need to piss, far be it from me to get in your way."

Ray shrugged one shoulder. "I just needed to escape for a bit." He blinked eyes that were strangely watering. "Everyone calls you a fag."

Gerard paled slightly, taking a step back, instantly on edge that he was about to get the shit beat out of him, again. And at a dance he didn't even want to go too, no less.

Ray's voice fell an octave, and Gerard couldn't help but smirk slightly. This Ray had a sort of effeminate voice to begin with. It was sort of endearing, coming from someone as tall, half-intimidating as he. "Is it true?"

Gerard chewed on his lip, edging towards the door. "What if it is?"

Ray tilted his head, then stepped in front of Gerard, one eyebrow raised. He pushed his hair out of his face, and Gerard found himself caught by easygoing brown eyes.

He remembered why he knew Ray Toro. Ray had been honored at the graduation assembly as the Most Valuable Player for their soccer team. He'd stood there, hands in his pockets, head hung, hiding behind his hair, accepting the trophy with a nod, his blush almost visible.

He was blushing now, too. Gerard thought his own cheeks probably had the same rosy cast. He tilted his head back a bit as Ray approached him proper. Gerard backed up until he realized he was pressed against the door. Ray was right in front of him, they were almost touching.

Gerard gasped as Ray leaned down, pressing full lips against his own. His eyelids fluttered, Ray's eyes were already closed.

Gerard wasn't sure what to do. Pretty elaborate set up, if the jocks planned on making something of this. Ray's lips tasted like whiskey and smoke.

One of Ray's hands, large and callused, wrapped around Gerard's wrist, thumb pressed against his pulse. Gerard realized that, like his little brother, Ray was a musician.

Gerard's lips had barely parted, his eyes closed proper, when something slammed against the door. They wheeled apart as quickly as they'd come together, both scampering away from the door.

The door swung open with a bang, and Ray rubbed at his cheek with the palm of one hand.

A small group of jock-types congregated in the doorway. "Hey. Toro. You gotta get out here, you're up for king, yeah?"

Ray cleared his throat. "I'm not gonna get it."

"You get to dance as a prince anyway, come on."

Ray left the bathroom without a second glance towards Gerard. Gerard sighed shakily, touching his lips with two fingertips before returning to the sink, splashing more water on his face, thankful at least that the jocks hadn't noticed his presence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _does anybody know a way that a body could get away?_

Ray knew, from the moment Frank's face had lit up at the concept, that this was a terrible idea.

Frank was... a very special kind of guy, and he had this uncanny ability to sniff out exactly the sort of things that would drive any other person insane. Of course, these were the very situations that Frank thrived in.

Ray leaned against the nearest wall, dragging hard on a cigarette. He wasn't usually a smoker, but that hadn't stopped him from sneaking a pack out of Frank's carton. He smoked only when stressed, and nothing was more stressful than subjecting himself to his high school peers.

He had to admit to himself that Frank's tendency to glow in awkward situations was sort of endearing. That was how he'd met Frank, originally. At a house party for a local record label. The situation was undeniably awkward, because the band meant to be celebrating their first album release, Frank's band, had by that point already broken up.

But Frank was fucking insane that night, and he wasn't even drunk. He made out with three different people, only one of which was a woman, before finding his way to Ray. The older man had to say that the little spitfire, covered in mostly illegal tattoos and self-administered piercings, wasn't really worth denying.

His life was never quite the same, after that, with Frank cropping up every few days. It wasn't long before they ended up living together, and the night Frank collapsed on top of him, curling up on his chest, panting against his skin that he loved him, yeah, that night was a high point in Ray's life.

Frank strode towards the front doors of the hotel, beaming towards Ray, tugging on his tie as he attempted to make it lie flat. He had insisted they dress up fancy, and had even tried to accost Ray with eyeliner. Ray had the good sense to use his height to his advantage, but conceded to a red button-down shirt and black slacks.

Frank flung his arms around Ray, twirling him away from the wall, snatching the cigarette from between his fingers and taking a long drag, blowing a smoke ring straight up towards the sky. "You ready?"

"I guess I have to be."

Frank dragged on the cigarette again before stretching onto his toes, pressing his lips against Ray's and exhaling slowly. Ray inhaled, smiling softly as he let the weak smoke ease out his nose. "What was that for?"

Frank gave Ray a quick peck on the lips. "Courage?"

"You think I have something to be afraid of?"

Frank pulled away from Ray, sneaking one more quick drag off the cigarette before flicking it off into the bushes. "Would you have stolen a pack of my cigarettes if you weren't?"

Ray shook his hair back out of his face. He had been hoping Frank wouldn't notice. "I'm not afraid."

Frank reached for Ray's hand, squeezing gently, lifting it and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "Good." Frank pranced back a few feet, tugging on Ray's hand, batting his eyelashes. "Come on, then, let's go in."

Frank released Ray's hand and headed towards the front door. Ray took a few steeling breaths, chewing on his lip as he watched his boy, half of his shirt un-tucked, tattoos visible on the back of his neck, prancing like an excited child.

It only took Ray about three strides to catch up with Frank, and he flexed both hands nervously before slipping an arm around Frank's waist. Maybe he could do this after all, the pride in his boyfriend thing.

It was hard not to be proud of Frank.

 

Gerard leaned against Bob, closing his eyes. Innate wallflower tendencies had taken over as soon as he'd entered the ballroom, but for once he couldn't bring himself to people watch. Considering how many people he'd recognized just walking across the room (and how many people hadn't recognized him, a fact which made him grumble), he was almost afraid of recognizing anyone else.

" _Gerard_? Gerard Way, is that you?"

"Oh god." Gerard's head snapped up, eyes wide. He knew that voice, and it had him searching for the nearest possible escape route.

Bob tightened his grip around Gerard's waist. "Who is she?"

"Her name is Kat. Oh my god, why Kat? I fucked her."

" _You_ fucked a _chick_?"

"Misguided straight phase, didn't we all have one? God, I can't believe, she _would_ just fucking hone in on me like thi-- Kat! Hi!"

She tore Gerard away from Bob, tugging him into a hugely tight hug. Gerard thought he was going to suffocate.

"You look great, Gerard!" She fingered his hair as if she had a right too, then turned her gaze on Bob. "And who's _this_?" She held her hand out to Bob, who took it carefully, inclining his head as he shook her hand. "I'm Kat."

"Bob Bryar. Gerard's boyfriend."

"Oh!" Kat made a flailing motion with her hands, gripping Gerard's shoulder as he pressed himself flush against Bob again. "God, that's just spectacularly adorable. The flame sure burned bright our year, didn't it?"

Gerard forced a weak smile to cross his face. Bob could tell that he was trying hard not to explode at her, and smiled proper to himself. Gerard was at least trying.

"What do you mean by that?" Bob asked softly. Kat turned towards him, grinning, flicking hair out of her eyes.

"Well, there's you two, of course. And me, well, I'm between ladies at the moment."

Bob's smile morphed into a smirk as he met Gerard's eyes. Gerard looked like he wanted to maybe die right about now, under the realization that he had not only once fucked a woman, but a woman who wasn't even into men.

"And Ray Toro." She pushed Gerard's shoulder, and he grit his teeth. "You remember Ray Toro? Soccer star, big hair?"

Gerard blinked a few times, his light skin going a noticeable tone paler. "Ray Toro's here?"

"Ray Toro sure is here, with the _cutest_ little guy, maybe this high," She gestured vaguely around her shoulder, "Cute as sin, too. I'd chase his tail myself, if he weren't all wrapped up in Ray. Cute enough to be femme, for sure."

Gerard's temporary pale-ness changed into a slight flush. "Ray Toro's _gay_?"

Someone Gerard didn't recognize, heavy black lines around tarnish-copper eyes, silver rings through nose and lip, and noticeable tattoos peeking from the neck and both sleeves of his shirt, appeared right before him, as if he'd sprung from the floor. He offered his hand to Gerard.

"He sure is, hi, I'm Frank Iero, Ray's partner."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm going to punch you in your glasses, oh no!_

_Gerard told himself that the only reason he was taking such a risk was that the other boy was the only person in his line of sight that looked nearly as bored as he did._

 _He very nearly convinced himself that it had nothing to do with innate curiosity, wondering what might happen between himself and the soccer star without the good old-fashioned social lubricant that liquor offered._

 _As it was, Gerard was definitely bored out of his mind, and it looked as if Ray Toro was in the same boat. Gerard didn't have any friends, and he figured that all of Ray's friends were somewhere else entirely (rather, getting drunk somewhere else)._

 _If Gerard was going to talk to anyone, why not pick the jock that had kissed him in the bathroom at prom?_

 _He sat down across from the taller man, tilting his head to ensure that their eyes locked, and then he smiled, the way he'd perfected for photographs that ended up in the back of every student art anthology._

 _"Hi." He waited, to see if Ray even remembered that moment in the bathroom at prom._

 _Ray's eyebrows furrowed, wondering which social nothing had decided to talk to him, and it took him a moments cognitive thought to realize that it was the creepy arty kid._

 _Gerard._

 _Ray ducked his head, his hair shifting to hide his face. "Hey."_

 _Oh, he definitely remembered. And he knew the things that Gerard didn't. Like, the fact that Ray hadn't been nearly so drunk as he'd seemed. It was nothing but an act, an excuse if he was later asked. Like, if they hadn't been interrupted, it might have gone further than just a kiss. Like, Ray Toro didn't know whether he was gay, straight, or what. Like, Ray Toro didn't know _what_ he was, but he had been hoping he could figure it out before he graduated. _

That kiss had definitely given him something of an idea that maybe he wasn't quite what his teammates, his friends, even his family, thought.

But how do you tell that to the boy, the geeky kid dressed all in black and leather, the one you'd kissed at prom, when he was under the impression that you were drunk?

And why should Gerard even care?

Why was Gerard even talking to him?

"What's up?"

Ray squinted through his hair, trying to figure out whether Gerard had somehow cottoned on to Ray's prom night ulterior motives. Gerard tilted his head at Ray's silence and the modesty curtain of his hair, trying to figure out whether Ray was going to hit him or not.

"Uh. Not much."

Gerard sat back, threading his fingers and tucking his hands between his knees, mirroring Ray's hunched shoulder posture and peering through his lank hair.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other and pretended they weren't looking at each other. After a while, Ray finally broke the dead lock by standing up suddenly, giving Gerard little more than a wide-eyed view of Ray's tight black T-shirt lifting up and showing off a thin strip of bronzed skin as Ray stretched.

"Uh. So." Gerard stuttered, unable to take his eyes off the very visible curving dip of Ray's hip. "What are you, uh, doing here?"

Ray relaxed from his stretch, clearing his throat and tossing himself back down, crossing his arms behind his head. Finally letting his hair fall back from his face, he was still unable to meet Gerard's eyes, instead just looking just past his ear.

Gerard remained hiding behind his hair.

"My, uh, my dad would flip if he found out I actually went to the other party. He's all paranoid about me losing my scholarship." He shrugged. "I mean, I don't mind. Not really. Anything to get out of this place, right? Plus, you know, soccer may be paying, but I'm going for music. They've got a really..." He paused, actually glancing towards Gerard's face. Their eyes met for a short moment. "Not that you should care. Do care. Never mind."

Gerard shook his head slightly, speaking quietly, voice soft. "I didn't know you were a musician."

Ray ducked his head again, not quite blushing but damn near. "I, uh. Yeah. I play guitar."

"I used to sing."

They both stared at the floor for a while. They each glanced up a few times, neither ever managing to catch the others' eyes. It took them a while to realize that they were alone.

Gerard took a steadying breath. "Uh. Ray? Could I ask you something? You don't have to answer or anything, just... try not to hit me."

Ray blinked, looking up and glancing around nervously. He figured he knew exactly what Gerard was about to ask him, and his problem wasn't with the question, or the answer, but with the fact that he didn't _know_ the answer.

He cleared his throat, looking towards the ceiling. "Sure, I guess."

Gerard stood up, standing in such a way as to catch Ray's eyes. His voice was soft. It was obvious he didn't want anything more than an answer, probably to put his own mind at ease. Ray felt a prickly tingle of guilt wash over his skin, he could only imagine what Gerard had been thinking since the night of prom. "Are you gay?"

For the first time all night, Ray and Gerard looked into each other's eyes. After a long moment, Ray reached up, slipping a hand into Gerard's hair, and they were kissing again.

This time, there was no trace of whiskey to Ray's taste, just a bit of smoke, a bit of spice.

Ray stood as they kissed, then pulled away, hair falling over his face again. He shook his head slightly, and just barely choked on his words.

"I don't even fucking know."

And Ray Toro walked away, and Gerard sat back down, slipping a bit and letting the back of his head hit against the back of the chair.

Three days later, graduation over and done with, and neither of them ever thought they'd see each other again.

Neither ever planned on going to any damn class reunions.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _our hearts pump dust and our hair's all grey_

Gerard blinked, startled, and turned to his boyfriend. He'd never told Bob the specifics of his high school career, and he was pretty sure the only person who knew about the two kisses the art freak got from the soccer star were... the art freak and the soccer star.

As he took Frank's hand, shaking it carefully, he wondered idly if Frank Iero, Ray's Partner, knew about Ray in high school. He wondered how long Ray had been out, why it took him so long to realize. He wondered if maybe Frank was one of those people who kamikaze'd people in the closet and pulled them out by their belt loops. He seemed the type.

Frank pulled his hand away and offered it towards Bob for a moment before he paused. He looked at the floor as he and Bob shook hands, and then spun around rapidly.

"Ray!" He waved energetically, and Gerard couldn't help but notice that good old Bob, Mr. Good Nature, was staring at the floor, and that Frank had a ring of tattoos around his lower torso, visible when he stretched onto tip toes and waved both arms over his head. Being an artist sometimes had its down side.

Gerard looked up when Frank made a happy noise that reminded him of an over-excited puppy.

Ray hadn't changed much in ten years. His hair was longer, he was better dressed and he seemed, somehow, smaller. It only took Gerard a moment to realize that Ray was slumped, shoulders hunched, as if to purposefully make himself appear smaller. Gerard wondered if this was simply because his boyfriend looked to be very little over five feet tall.

Gerard glanced around, hoping that maybe he could talk to Kat, but the lesbian had disappeared. Ray put an arm around Frank's waist as if to anchor himself to the spot, and Frank bounced in place.

There was a thoroughly awkward silence for at least three minutes. At least, it was awkward for Gerard, and it seemed to be awkward for Ray as well, as his left hand fiddled insistently with his hair, and his eyes focused on Gerard's right shoulder. Gerard noticed that Ray was wearing a ring on his fourth finger, and glancing down, he noticed that Frank had a matching one.

Finally, glancing hopefully at Bob for some kind of confidence (a failure, as Bob was still staring pointedly at the floor), Gerard spoke.

"So. Ray. How's it been?"

Ray cleared his throat. Gerard, focusing on Ray's wrist, noticed Ray tightening his grip on Frank's waist. "It's, uh. It's alright. You?"

"Good. It's good."

They cleared their throats in tandem. No one noticed the way Frank stared intently at Bob, head tilted and eyebrows furrowed, as if trying to remember something.

"What have you been up too? You went to, uh, art school, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, living in New York now. I work on comics."

"That's what you wanted to do, right?"

"Yeah. What about you? M-music, right?"

"Yeah! Uh, yeah. I had a band, for a while, but, uh, now I just play session guitar. So does Frank, here, that's how we met." Ray paused, glancing towards Frank, who was still trying hard to figure out where he knew Bob from. No one noticed the blush on the back of Bob's neck as Bob intently counted speckles in the carpet beneath their feet. "How'd you meet, uh..."

"Bob, my boyfriend. Bob. Actually, he works in sound, we met when I designed a tour poster for a band I was kind of a fan of."

"Oh, well that's cool."

"Yeah, he's from Chicago."

"Chicago's a nice city. Never been there myself, but Frank loves it there. Right, Frank?"

"Huh? Oh. Uh. Yeah. Chicago. I went to play with a band whose guitarist took off to do some solo thing right before they went into the studio. It was... awesome."

No one noticed Bob's blush creep onto his cheeks.

"You had a younger brother, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Yeah, I remember reading the article about your, uh, senior project, in the paper."

"Yeah, yeah. No, my brother... He moved to Chicago, actually."

"That's nice."

"Yeah."

They slipped into silence again, this one mildly more amicable. Finally, Ray managed to meet Gerard's eyes. They were everything he remembered, bright honey-gold. He smiled brightly, and a ghost of a smile crossed Gerard's lips as well, though his smile was brighter in his eyes.

"It was good to see you again." Gerard said quietly. Ray nodded.

"You too."

There was an awkward moment where they both contemplated hugging before deciding that was a bad idea. They shook hands, and then Gerard shook Frank's hand, while Ray took Bob's. The soundman was still staring at the floor as he shook first Ray's, then Frank's hand. His blush darkened ever further as he caught sight of the tattoos across Frank's knuckles.

"Nice meeting you, Bob."

"Nice to meet you, Frank."

"I think we'll head towards the food." Gerard reached for Bob's hand. Bob nodded slowly.

"Maybe we'll run into each other later?"

"Yeah. Cool."

Ray took a deep breath as he walked away from Gerard, Frank following after; beaming proudly as he finally remembered something. They headed without thought to the bathroom, and once inside, Ray wrapped his arms around Frank and breathed him in.

"You were quiet."

"Just thinking about something."

"Yeah, sure."

"I'll tell you later."

 

Gerard led Bob towards the refreshment area by the hand, eyeing his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye.

"What's wrong, Bob?"

Bob shook his head. "Nothing, nothing. Just something on my mind."

"What, you miss home?"

Bob smirked at this, snorting slightly. "Something like that."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Alright. Sorry I mentioned it."

Bob hugged Gerard gently. "Ass. It's nothing. Let's just try to have a good time."

Gerard tilted his head a bit. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?"

"Nah, nah. So. Tell me about Ray. How'd you know each other?"

Gerard laughed. Bob would ask. It was like Bob could read his mind. "It's a long story."

"Well, _you_ never start a conversation with any of your old classmates, so I figure we've got time."

"Fine. Fine. Well, it really started at prom."


End file.
